Oh dear. Ill again.

Taking refuge in the silence of a bare room with me wallowing in bed, a phlegmatic walrus flopping among rumpled sheets and never-finished books; words like ululate and Erinnerungsarbeit (memory work); sleep.

...

At school, finally. A few (among too many) things to think about: the difference between a house and a home, the not-so-ideologically-innocent perception of bad grammar as "tacky", emotion as a guiding force (and not as entirely narcissistic focus) within writing, the graffiti I saw in Europe: Gora ETA! NAZIS RAUS! Auslander bleiben Nazis vertreiben; the places and books that went missing in Berlin, "removed from the body of the nation."

...

"The grenade, grimace and claw-like hand seem to point to a desperate future, hysterical and militarized. The picture works because the strangeness of the boy is staged within a kindly natural scene; there is even a rhyme between those paired tree trunks and the child's spindly legs."�description of Child with Toy Hand Grenade in Central Park, NYC, Diane Arbus.